


Aster & Emma

by Maitimiel



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn, nobody even likes coffee, stupid amounts of coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maitimiel/pseuds/Maitimiel





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youtomyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youtomyme/gifts).



"Hey! Do you mind if I sit here? The rest of the place is full."

The words belonged to a pretty young woman holding a to-go cup of coffee and a pastry bag with a smile on her lips. She was wearing jeans and a white shirt, a messenger bag thrown carelessly over her shoulder. Emma said yes with a nod, and looked back at her book, suddenly unsure whether or not it was polite to do so. 

The woman sat opposite to her, hanging her bag on the back of the chair. "Thanks. I've been craving these croissants the entire morning, and when I walked by I couldn't resist entering, crowd or no crowd." She took a long sip of her cup, and Emma marked the page on Anna Karenina, closing it softly. Her tea had gone cold, but she drank some, anyway. She acknowledged the words with a small smile, her eyes wandering around the small coffee shop that was indeed completely full, and coming back again to her table-mate.

They managed a few minutes of silence before the woman asked, casually "So, do you come here often?"

Emma raised her eyes to her face and answered, rather dryly, "I suppose," and the other woman laughed nervously. 

"I'm sorry. I'm not that great at starting conversation. My name is Aster," she said warmly, reaching her hand over the table. Her fingers were chilled because of the wind outside, and Emma felt that instinctive desire of rubbing them warm. She didn't.

"Emma." She deliberately relaxed her shoulders before adding: "It's no problem, really." 

Aster's smile widened as she pulled her hand back and started to unwrap croissant. "It's nice to meet you, Emma. Do you live nearby?"

She shook her head. "I work nearby."

"Oh, really? Where?"

"I teach at the music school, two blocks from here."

"Really?" Aster asked, bouncing in her chair. Emma raised her eyebrows, a small smile forming on her lips.

"Do you like music?"

"Oh, I used to be able to play the flute. Not anymore, probably. What do you play?"

***

Emma was a woman of habits. She would wake up every day at six, even though her first student arrived usually at eight. She'd brew herself a pot of coffee and put too much sugar in it. She'd water the plants and take Antonin for a walk. She would shower and leave some sort of healthy snack ready for the afternoon, when she would work at the somewhat decadent music school; she would rather not, but time had taught her value of security. 

At night, if her mood was good, she might play something to herself in the old piano that was all she had left from her grandparents house, or read a book perhaps. Ever more frequently, though, she would just turn on the TV. She didn't use to own a television, back when Clara used to live there, but now the bright pictures and loud sounds helped to drown the silence that seemed to pervade her life more and more often. 

On the days such routine was broken, Emma barely knew what to do with herself. When there was a cancellation, when it rained too much for her to walk the dog or run, when the power was cut for some reason, she felt like crawling right out her skin. 

After the last of her morning students bailed on her, Emma had gotten into her car and started to drive in the general direction of the school. It was still far too early for her to arrive, so she decided to just hang out in the cafe and catch up on her reading. 

The cafe was always calm in the mornings. There was no one in line when she asked for her usual cup of coffee. But when she turned to her usual table, the last one near the window, she realized it was already taken.

Aster was writing in a small, posh-looking notebook, a big camera next to her cup of tea. Her loose hair was thrown to the side and she seemed to mutter to herself as she wrote.

Emma would have left her alone, but as she hesitated in search of another table, the girl looked up and parted her lips in a welcoming smile, gesturing Emma to move closer. 

She walked slowly, gripping her cup. Aster flipped her notebook closed and pushed it aside, freeing space. Emma pulled the chair opposite to his usual one. 

"Hi!" The young woman spoke effusively, "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise," Emma paused, awkwardly, "are you photographing nearby?"

"Oh yes, this is a very interesting neighborhood."

Emma looked out of the window to an overflowing garbage dumpster and the yellowed hints of weed growing out of the cracks on the sidewalk. Most of the houses and commercial establishments were not only distinctively ordinary but could also do with a layer of paint. None of it seemed to be worthy of a photographer's attention, in Emma's opinion.

Aster seemed to be following her thoughts. "Oh, I know. But see, if you look closely, you'll see all sort of curious things. There are at least three dogs who pick up children at the school, but two of them can't be out on the same days, and how an old man always waits for his wife to go grocery shopping before feeding all the stray cats of his street and later pretend not to know a thing about that. There is also a boy building a motorcycle from scratch in his backyard behind his parents. And also." she leaned in as if she meant to tell a secret. Emma copied the action without noticing. "I skip class the days the assignments went out, and the cooler places were already taken."

Right. Class. Cause Aster was a student. The young woman winked and reclined back on her chair, a cat-like smile on her lips. Emma felt her mouth dry. 

"Well, you seem to have come across some good ideas, regardless."

"Yes. People have been very welcoming to the project, too."

"Doesn't approaching people affect your work, though?" 

"It does, but my professor requires us to get people's permission for it anyway, so there's no way around it. Which reminds me." She pulled a folder out of her oversized bag and took a sheet of paper out of it. "May I have your consent, Emma?"

Emma looked at the words printed. It looked very standard, a few lines acknowledging and authorizing the use of the pictures. Didn't really look like a real contract or anything official. Still, Emma felt a knot form on her stomach. 

"Do you have pictures of me?"

"Oh, yes, you're the mysterious outsider teacher. It's a very important part."

"Can I see them?" She asked, tone harsher than she had intended. 

But Aster merely said "of course" before moving her chair so she and Emma sat side by side. She turned her camera on and started to shuffle through the tiny screen, looking. 

She leaned closer to Emma when she found the first one. Emma leaned anxiously closer to see it. 

The picture showed her inside her car, one hand on the steering wheel and a to-go cup of coffee on the other, waiting for an opening to pull out of where she was parked. The sun was setting, and she seemed deep in thought. It wasn't, though, revealing or private in any way. Her shoulders relaxed a little. She wasn't sure of what she'd been afraid of really, by the idea of having pictures of herself on display on some university exhibition made her feel uneasy. Aster shuffled more, coming to a picture of Emma standing alone on the school front yard, and another, taken shortly after, of her greeting one of her students with a handshake. 

"That's all I have so far." Aster's voice was gentle and very close to her ear, and Emma straightened her back, putting some distance between them, in which she was imitated immediately by the other woman. "But you don't have to give me an answer right now. Take this home, think about it."

"How will I find you to give you my answer?" Emma asked, folding the sheet in two and storing it safely inside her forgotten Anna Karenina. 

"Oh, I'll be around. But you can always call me." She gave Emma a card titled "Aster Jane". It had a phone number and email address on it, and the link to a website.

"Thanks," she said, not sure of what she was thanking the woman for. But Aster didn't question her; she moved back to her place and turned the camera off, before saying softly:

"You're welcome."

***

Later that night, Emma couldn't resist checking Aster's online portfolio. 

For someone so young (how young was she, anyway? Eighteen? Nineteen?) Aster had certainly done a lot of work. She had a few collections of Birthdays and Weddings, but most of what she had chosen to upload showed urban scenes of some sort. Children running around a park, flowers growing on people's garden's, trash being smashed by cars. Emma couldn't say she liked all of it, but it certainly agreed with what she could understand of Aster's personality; every photo shoot appeared to have a theme, though Emma couldn't always put her finger on it. 

Antonin whined and rested his muzzle on her knee, and she petted his soft fur absently. Her coffee had gone cold, and she got up to pour it down the sink. She didn't get more. Closing her computer, she moved to stand by the window, breathing in the fresh air.

***

Some habits take a long time and a lot of effort to be established. One needed to insist on them, to make a deliberate point of keeping them up, until they finally felt natural, like going out to run, walking the dog, or not thinking of Clara. 

Other habits seemed to develop almost without being realized, and when one stopped to think about them, weeks have passed by unnoticed.

Having coffee with Aster fell into the second category. 

While they had never made an appointment out of it, soon the coffee shop encounter became akin to a ritual, the way Emma would finish her workday after leaving school every day, the last thing Aster would do before catching the bus to go to College. 

Most days, when Emma got inside, Aster would already be sitting at their table, making notes or shuffling through her camera, a cup of tea always by her side. Sometimes, she would show Emma a picture in which she appeared, sometimes in the first plan, sometimes in the background. Emma no longer felt anxious about being in so many of those. 

They usually had up to one hour to talk before Aster had to leave. One night, though, they had been talking about literature, and Emma had become so invested in the conversation it took her a long time to realize that Aster should have been gone for hours already.

"Don't you have class today?" she asked upon noticing how dark it was outside.

Aster shrugged. 

"Not really. Some boring old dude is giving a lecture about something."

"Don't you want to attend that? It could be interesting."

"Oh, it isn't. This guy was my professor on my first term. He is an obnoxious asshole, really."

"Still, you shouldn't be missing out on school things. There is always something to be learned."

"I'm not missing out. I'd rather spend my time with you, anyway," Aster said challengingly, and Emma thought there was a note of defensiveness in there too. The girl pouted, and Emma thought, as she had before, that she was too alluring for her own good.

"Aster, how old are you?" The question escaped Emma's lips before she could stop to think about it for real, and for a minute she feared Aster would be upset with her. 

Aster didn't answer right away. Her expression changed from daring to uncertain, to resolutely. Her voice was even and determined when she spoke:

"Twenty-five."

They stared into each other's eyes for a full minute, both seemingly considering what course to follow. Emma made up her mind first.

"You have my consent."

Judging by Aster's reaction, this was not what she'd been expecting at all.

" _What?_ "

"To use my photos. I'll bring it to you tomorrow."

The following day was a Saturday. They didn't use to meet on Saturdays. 

Aster shook herself out of her stupor.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Had anyone asked her this very question on that very morning, she would not have an answer. But now, staring at Aster's straightforward, she didn't question herself. She knew she could trust her. She wasn't afraid.

***

For the first time since they'd first met, they had an actual appointment to see each other. For the first time, Emma wasn't just seeing Aster after her classes, wearing her work clothes. It felt almost like a date.

She was fully aware of how idiotic that very thought was. _I see her every day at five. I'll see her today at five, as I always do._ She couldn't help it, though. In a way, up until this moment, she could still have said that their encounters were completely random, that they just happen to be at the same place at the same time, that it was coincidental. From this day on, she could no longer act as if it was happenstance.

It was a commitment. 

She had the filled consent form carefully tucked inside a plastic folder as if it was something precious and fragile. She had wrapped Antonin carefully under a pile of blankets on his bed. She had closed all windows and double checked the doors. Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, and a part of her thought of calling Aster and postponing. But she knew that in reality, underneath all of her nerves, that was not what she truly wanted. She swallowed down the surge of anxiety and got into her car. 

As she drove along the streets, the rain that had been threatening her from afar started to pour down, drowning all the noise from the street. When she turned around the corner, her stomach sank. 

The cafe was closed. 

From the car, she could see that there was a note glued to the glass door, but she didn't feel like getting out to the rain to read it. 

It only took a few minutes for a bus to stop at the end of the street and Aster jumped out of it, running to the cafe entrance. She stopped suddenly at the doors, and Emma opened her windows, shouting her name. 

The woman looked behind her with a look of relief and threw herself inside the car, grinning widely. Her bangs stuck to her wet face, her clothes were soaked through, and yet she seemed perfectly happy. Emma couldn't help smiling back, and soon they were both giggling.

"So this is what happens when we actually set up a date? I think we made a mistake," Aster said, lightly and laughing. 

Emma couldn't even bring herself to feel strange at that. 

"I guess that is our lesson, yes. Don't try to influence fate," She considered the closed coffee shop, "Where do you want do you go?"

Aster's breathing hitched for a moment, her face calculating.

"Can we go to your house?"

Emma was caught out of guard. "What?"

"Well, I don't want to go back to my place, I sort of told my roommate he could have the house to himself, his boyfriend is in town." she blushed furiously. The color looked beautiful on her. "Also I don't think I'm really up to go anywhere like this." she indicated her dripping clothes with a gesture, "And I wanted to see where you live."

Emma was speechless. Aster was rambling. She was blushing and fumbling with her clothes and _rambling_. She was _nervous_.

"Emma?"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes." she swallowed hard and smiled to Aster encouragingly. "Let's go to my place."

***

Emma had gone get a towel for Aster to wrap herself with. He took the fluffiest she had. When she came back to the living room, she found only the woman's gigantic bag laying by her couch. A trail of water droplets led her to the kitchen.

"Aster?"

"You never told me you had a dog," the girl whispered accusingly, a look of betrayal in her eyes, "I _love_ dogs."

"Errr. Sorry?" She unfolded the towel and draped it around Aster's shoulders. 

"What is his name?"

"Antonin."

"Antonin?"

"Dvorak. My ex named him."

"Oh." Aster frowned. "A musician too?"

"No." Clara hadn't known much about music, at least not before they were together. "She was an editor, for a newspaper."

"Was? Why, is she dead?" Aster asked darkly, face unreadable.

"Moved to Los Angeles. I suppose she is _still_ an editor. I haven't talked to her for the past 13 years, though."

Aster relaxed. "How old is Antonin?"

"Almost eighteen-years-old."

"An old man, are you?" Aster whispered into Antonin's ear, but he gave no sign of intending to leave his bed anytime soon. 

"Do you want anything to drink?" She asked Aster, removing a kettle from the cupboard and filling it with water. 

"Do you have tea?" She straightened up, toweling her hair. 

"I'm sorry, I don't." She smiled apologetically. "I guess I only have coffee, really." 

"It'll do." Aster leaned against the counter, watching Emma work as she dried herself. 

In truth, Emma didn't use to like coffee. He prepared it with a whole lot of sugar and little actual coffee, so he didn't have to taste it too much. But tea had been Clara's beverage. She had drunk copious amounts of tea, all of the time. After she had left, Emma had sworn it out of her life. 

Now she wished she had some, so Aster could have it. At least some bagged stuff, if not whole leaves.

They sat at the kitchen table with their cups, looking deep into each other's eyes, and Emma was unsure whether she ought to say something, or just enjoy the silence that formed between them. Aster spoke, very carefully, as if she wasn't sure she was phrasing it right.

"Can I photograph you? Like, not for the project, just... for me? Can I take a picture of you?"

Emma didn't let herself over think. She just nodded, without breaking eye contact.

"Okay, just. Wait here."

She came back a moment later, camera in hand, and started dealing with lenses and other things Emma didn't really understand.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked, hands wrapped around the warm mug.

Aster looked up to her, eyes shining. "I want you to look at me."

So Emma did. 

The camera made a noise, and Aster continued to look at her, filled with emotion. Emma was sitting on the edge of her chair, one arm over the table with the coffee. Aster suddenly moved forward, lowering herself in one knee in front of Emma's chair. One of her arms was braced her legs, the other reached up to touch Emma's face. 

"Please just... don't ask me to leave."

"What," Emma let her fingers graze softly at the other's jaw, "are you talking about?"

"I know what you're thinking. I don't care. I'm not a child."

Emma didn't know quite how to put in words what she was feeling. Of course, Aster wasn't a child. Of course, Emma wanted her, had wanted her for a while. Emma hadn't wanted anything this much since Clara. What if she messed up? What if she was messed up enough to mess Aster up? But she _wanted_. She wanted so much, she was willing to ignore all else, and that worried her, too, because she should care more, she should be able to make rational decisions. But she couldn't. She couldn't think straight at all with this woman on her knees in front of her. 

"I won't," she said, trying to convey all she felt into the words, all the certainty and assurance and also the warnings, "I won't ask you to leave." She bent down to touch her forehead to Aster's. "I promise."


End file.
